


Listen Like Thieves

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pride goes before the fall</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen Like Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight** who has had a no good, very bad day
> 
> Originally posted 4-13-08

There are five things that Matthew is exceptionally good at: Making omelets, rugby, singing Elvis songs, making even the most innocent of Shakespeare sound incredibly dirty and ignoring Ioan Gruffudd.

Not that Ioan makes it particularly easy, mind you. Ioan in a snit is, in fact, the single most difficult thing in the world to ignore, ranking higher than national disasters, alien invaders and the press coverage of the death of Princess Diana. Matthew would be willing to allow that this is solely because he and Ioan share a flat, but he’s known Ioan longer than that and it’s always been the case.

Right now, he’s ignoring Ioan _famously_ , as Ioan’s taken to prattling on and on and on (and on and on and on) about something Matthew can’t be arsed to care about, especially as there’s rugby on and an exam come Monday morning.

“…and then I went down on him.”

Matthew blinks rapidly for a moment before turning his head and staring at Ioan. “’m sorry, mate. What?”

“Ha! I knew you weren’t bloody listening, you immense wanker.”

“Actually, I’m relatively certain that, listening or not, you suddenly declaring that you’re sucking off blokes would elicit that sort of a reaction. ‘s a bad test, logically.”

“God, I fucking _hate_ you.” Ioan flops down onto the couch, disrupting all of Matthew’s notes, which isn’t nearly as troublesome as the fact that he also kicks the coffee table and nearly upends Matthew’s beer.

“Watch out, you arse. I paid a bloody fortune for that beer.” He reaches out and grabs the bottle, making sure to give Ioan his most deadly glare which he’s not quite perfected, as no one’s actually died from receiving it, most especially his big sister, Ioan’s little sister, and the bloke snogging the girl Matthew’s had a hard on for for a week. “So, you’ve taken to giving head now, have you?”

“Did I mention I hate you completely and utterly? Because I do.” Ioan crosses his arms over his chest and gives Matthew a glare of his own, also completely non-lethal, despite his best efforts. “And no, I’ve not.”

“It’s what you said.”

“I was trying to see if you were paying attention.”

“I was paying attention to you talking about sucking some bloke off.”

“That’s _not_ what the conversation was about, which you’d bloody fucking know if you’d _been_ paying attention, which you weren’t, so, as stated, I hate you.”

“Right. So we’re not going to be talking about sex then?” Matthew reaches for the remote and turns the sound back up on the telly. “I’ll just be watching studying then.”

“As if I’d bloody tell you anyway. You’ve the biggest mouth in all of London, Rhys.” Ioan jabs Matthew in the arm with his finger. “You’d be blabbing it to every pub from here to Piccadilly that I was giving blowjobs to unsuspecting blokes, telling sordid tales for free ale.”

“First off, I’d demand more than ale to tell people such stories. Secondly, I’m pretty sure if you’re on your knees with your mouth open and their fly open, the blokes are _not_ unsuspecting and thirdly, I do fucking not.”

“You do too.”

“I do _not_.” Matthew reaches out and taps Ioan’s bottom lip. “You’ve got a mouth on you, Gruffudd, as I’m sure a large majority of these _unsuspecting_ blokes would admit. Far bigger than mine. No doubt getting bigger every day what with you giving head to all our classmates and half the blokes down the local pub.”

Ioan slaps Matthew’s hand away then slugs him hard in the arm. “I’ve not given a fucking blowjob in my entire life, you fucking prick. Jesus.” Ioan falls back against the arm of the couch and glares at Matthew. Matthew feels his heart do something odd and wonders a bit if Ioan’s actually managed to master the deadly glare or if it’s just guilt at the hurt look in those blasted brown puppy eyes.

“Sorry,” Matthew mutters.

“You are not.” One of the things _Ioan_ is especially good at is pouting, and he does it now, his lower lip jutting out just a bit, just enough to give a hint that he’s wounded and would very much like someone to make him feel better. “You’re just feeling a brief flash of guilt and it will go away the moment I’m not looking at you.” He pout gets a bit more pronounced.

“Don’t tell me whether or not I’m sorry. I think I’d know I was sorry a bit more than you would know I’m sorry. So if I say I’m sorry, then I’m sorry, and that’s that.” Matthew does his best to ignore the pout, which is _not_ something he’s exceptionally good at. “So, fine. Tell me what you were talking about.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’ve no desire to tell you anything. In fact, my overwhelming desire is to tell you fuck all.” Ioan raises his eyebrows just a bit and then turns to the telly. “Which works well, as I’ve decided I’m not speaking to you at all anymore.”

“You’re speaking to me now.”

“I’m not. I’m talking aloud and you happen to be in hearing distance.”

“But you’re _addressing_ me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re _answering_ me.”

“I am highly attuned to the communication centers of my brain and the logical arguments that one would put together when trying to finagle his or her way back into the good graces of one’s friend that one has _wronged_ and therefore can logically deduce what answers would best be needed in the situation of a conversation were we having one, which we are not, since I’m not speaking to you at all.”

“You’re such a prat.” Ioan’s hand shoots out, punching Matthew hard in the arm again. “Ow. And a violent one at that.”

“However, the thing most people forget, especially those not being spoken to, is that the person not speaking to them is still capable of listening and thus knowing when they’re stuck on the couch with a name-calling arsehole.”

“Stop _acting_ like a prat and I’ll stop _calling_ you a prat, you prat.” Ioan lashes out again, but this time Matthew’s ready and grabs his hand, his fingers curving tight around Ioan’s wrist. He jerks Ioan forward so they’re face to face and he can feel the warmth of Ioan’s breath on his lips. “Stop _hitting_ me.”

He can see Ioan’s struggle to say something warring with his desire to remain not speaking to Matthew, and it’s almost funny. Ioan’s always been a bit awful at conundrums and catch-22s, so Matthew holds him there for a long while. Eventually, he lets his gaze drop from Ioan’s eyes to his mouth and for a second, Matthew feels a shock of something deep down, a heat that seems to uncoil at the base of his prick.

Matthew jerks his gaze back up to Ioan’s eyes and there’s something there that’s a different kind of confusion than the one that Ioan had been tussling with a few moments ago. Matthew releases Ioan’s wrist immediately, his lips parting on a huff of breath as Ioan reverses the situation and catches hold of Matthew’s. “What…” Matthew stops talking as Ioan’s eyes go down to his mouth. Matthew licks his lips in response and his eyes threaten to close as Ioan _smiles_ in response. He clears his throat and licks his lips again. “What were you talking about?”

“You’re going to listen now, are you?”

Matthew nods, his eyes falling once more to Ioan’s lips. His breath feels tight in his chest and the heat that had uncoiled in his prick is now spreading to most every inch of Matthew’s body, including a few that seem to be asserting themselves in his trousers. “Yeah.”

“I was telling you about my night last night. About some of the people I met.” Ioan closes his eyes and tilts his head slightly and Matthew makes a noise that he will deny ever making or having the ability or vocal range _to_ make. “Telling you about how we went back to their flat and the invited me to join them for a drink and a smoke of something or the other.”

“Oh.” Matthew manages, his own eyes feeling heavy and his mouth a breath away from Ioan’s.

“About how we got a bit pissed and a bit stoned and then they started making out and asked me to join them. So I kissed her and she straddled his mouth and I went down on him.”

“Oh.” Matthew can’t keep his eyes open anymore, not even to see the very hot, wicked, _satisfied_ grin on Ioan’s face, though it pays off when he feels that very same grin pressed against his mouth, malleable enough to melt from the smile into a kiss that Matthew feels all the way to his feet, pausing long enough to push those few inches he’d been feeling assert themselves out at least another few, stopping only at the feel of Ioan’s hand against all of them. “O-oh.”

Ioan whispers against Matthew’s kiss, smiling again. “Done ignoring me, aren’t you?”

Matthew doesn’t answer, at least not in the traditional sense, though he does modify his own mental list of things he’s exceptionally good at, dropping the number most eagerly to four.  



End file.
